Birthday Surprise
by I'm Nova
Summary: Sherlock doesn't like his birthday, or that shady bookseller he met. He can behave though...if there's a reward.


_Disclaimer: I don't own a single thing. A.N. This is completely rushed, literally written today because I managed to murder my previous laptop and just got my new one. I know it won't make for a very nice present, but I hope the kind and brilliant PatPrecieux will forgive me for this. I might update a correct version once I have time to run it by my own Angel but I didn't want to miss the actual birthday. This has been inspired by ItsClydeBitches' Discredit, Excerpts from A.Z. Fell and Co.'s Yelp Page, which you should really read for a laugh. _

Birthday Surprise

John might hide his middle name, but Sherlock wouldn't confess his birthday. It just seemed wiser, with people tolerating him at best. Any birthday party would be nothing more than a show of hypocrisy, and he was much better off without it.

Besides, John enjoyed it when the detective fed his adrenaline addiction. Silly things like birthdays, anniversaries (nope, they weren't a couple...yet), names of childhood pets...that was the kind of boring stuff over which his girlfriends eventually broke up with him.

Then, a case brought them to meet the plump bookseller in Soho and his equivocal boyfriend. Sherlock still maintained that the shop, with its ridiculous hours, was a front...just not for exotic animals' traffic, despite the promising online reviews.

To the detective's dismay, John had become fast friends with their suspects. Thank God, not enough to actually get involved with whatever they were up to, forsaking investigation, as he'd feared.

When John welcomed him in the morning with a (correct!), "Happy Birthday, Sherlock!" he blamed Mycroft, but couldn't stop the rush of warmth in his heart.

"Erm...Anthony and Angelo – not your Angelo, the A in A. Z. Fell from the bookshop is another Angelo, actually – are coming later. I couldn't exactly stop them from celebrating, since they were the ones who let drop your birthday was coming soon. I've not spread it to anyone, because I assumed you didn't want a party. Having you socialise didn't seem a good gift, but..." John stammered.

"How would they know?" he snapped.

"They know an amazing volume of things. You'd be surprised. Anyway, before we're invaded – your gift. I left it with Mrs. Hudson, because I needed her approval anyway, and there was no way you wouldn't have deduced it otherwise. I'm just going to get it. I'd tell you to close your eyes, but it would be useless, so."

Now this was fascinating – something he could perceive with other senses than sight? A musical instrument, maybe?

Whatever Sherlock expected, it wasn't what John brought up. The trasparent hexagon was a hive. An actual hive, filled with buzzing guests.

"Help me set this up, will you?"

In minutes, it was adorning their sitting room's wall, with a way for the bees to leave and forage whenever they pleased. Sherlock's eyes twinkled with glee, and words slipped out without his control. "I could kiss you for that." He immediately panicked, and was ready to blame too much Doctor Who for it.

John grinned at him. "Well, don't stop on my account."

Sherlock had been accused of being crazy many times, but he wasn't crazy enough to decline.

...Of course, that's when their two guests let themselves in. They had picked the lock on their door, the detective could have sworn. The bookseller's delighted grin wasn't exactly evidence to the contrary. Oddly, it was the leather-dressed boyfriend who blushed. "Maybe we should go, Angel."

"But there's cake!" the other pouted, thrusting forward the box he carried. "Red velvet, and with none of these ghastly dyes, of course, just the best cocoa and buttermilk...turned red by their own chemistry."

No matter how much he'd rather enjoy his own chemistry, how could Sherlock resist a description like that? He, somewhat reluctantly, parted from John. "Just one slice, I suppose."

"I'll start the kettle," his blogger said.

For the next fifteen minutes, Sherlock behaved. Through a chorus of Happy Birthday, invites to accompany John at the bookshop for tea and a chat sometimes, random blessings – he assumed Angelo was from the Southern States originally – and small talk. Okay, it might be because the cake tasted heavenly, and not even he had the heart to kick out the people who brought such a gift.

It was Anthony, who'd mostly gazed in adoration at his boyfriend, who eventually cut him off. "We really have to go...let them enjoy the day in peace, Angel. I expect they'll be busy later." And winked. At Sherlock.

Sherlock assumed it was a saucy remark, though it seemed in contradiction with the man's character. When, much later (after he and John had celebrated their own way, over and over) Greg came knocking with a locked door murder, he wasn't so sure anymore. Oh well. Whatever the actual criminal dealings of the pair were, he'd catch them. Eventually. For now, he could enjoy.

_A.N...again. The anthocyanins in the cocoa give its brown colour in an alkaline setting, but give it an acidic background (not that the resulting food is acid) and they'll turn red, like in cherries or red raspberries. _


End file.
